Journey Home
by HeidiBug731
Summary: Pyramid is gone, never to enslave anyone again. But the mechs still walk and weave destruction. Now Trip and Monkey must decide what comes next. And while Monkey still holds running as the safest route, Trip needs more from life.


Trip

Pyramid is gone, never to enslave anyone again. But the mechs, they don't stop. They were built for war, and as Monkey says, it's all they know. Ships continue to carry would-be slaves to a destination that holds nothing for them.

Some of the freed slaves go mad, broken by the harsh reality they find outside of Pyramid's dream world. Others hold resentment toward me, angered by their awakening. Some are grateful. Most are lost, confused. They don't know what to do with their lives any more than I know what to do with mine.

Monkey says we should keep moving, it doesn't matter where. He's the one who's kept me alive this long, so I suppose he knows what he's doing. We fix up a mech big enough to carry us, and we go.

As for the ones left behind, they'll either learn how to survive - maybe even become a new metropolis of human life - or they won't. I wish I could help. I created this mess, after all. But Monkey says it's not safe, and he's right. Waking up one morning with a freed slave's hands around my throat was enough to convince me of that.

* * *

Monkey

She asked me if she'd done the right thing, and I honestly don't know. I tell her it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and all we can do now is live with it.

Easier said than shaking the images from my mind. Such a beautiful world, one of joy and laughter. I've never known anything like that. And Trip, she can tell stories of her home that may come close but they're not the same. There was no future to the life she led. But for Pyramid's… God, it'd looked like paradise.

I don't tell her about what I saw, about what Pyramid showed me. She has enough guilt as it is, she doesn't need me to add to it. And it doesn't matter anyway. What matters is that we keep moving, get back into the grove I had set before all of this craziness started. Get back to normal.

But there is no normal, not anymore. Not with Trip.

* * *

Trip

Find food and fuel and keep moving. That's Monkey's mantra.

We head east back the way we came. We find Monkey's motorbike untouched where we'd left it. Like a time capsule, like everything that happened once we got off never came to pass.

But it did pass. Pigsy passed.

"What will happen to this place?" I ask as I join Monkey on the motorbike.

"Someone will come along," he says.

His foot hits the peddle, and Pigsy's junkyard fades into the distance.

All of this is my fault.

* * *

Monkey

Trip asks to see her village again. I almost refuse. She nearly got herself killed the first time, and I don't want to see her break down again.

But I take her. She handles it better this time around. Resignation overshadows the shock that still lingers.

"It's sad," she says as she walks among the homes. "That no one will ever live here again."

This place was a death trap the moment her father conceived of it, but I don't tell her that. Any place you bring people together in large numbers, the mechs will hit. I've seen it so many times.

One person, even two, have a much greater chance of making it on their own. That's why it's so important we keep moving.

"Come on," I say as we reach the village gates.

I take her hand, and we hit the road.

* * *

Trip

I don't know why Monkey keeps me around. Now that I'm not dragging him through mech infested wilderness, I'm just dead weight. And I'm not very good company.

I'd thought killing the man who'd killed my village would give their deaths some kind of purpose, like I'd be ridding the world of an evil. Instead I found a mad man who couldn't even conceive of what he'd done, not just to me but to the world. And I freed thousands of people who preferred their enslavement to the freedom brought by my revenge.

I'd changed _nothing_. Their deaths still meant _nothing_. All of it was so senseless.

This world that we lived in… was there a point? All the fighting and dying… when would it end? Was it even foolish to think that it could?

"Hey." Monkey puts a hand on my shoulder, jumping me from my stupor. "You all right?"

I manage a smile, but I shake my head. "I can't think like you, Monkey. I can't shut it out."

I know what he'd say if I told him my thoughts. He'd tell me not to think on it. There was nothing I could do, so what I should do now is shut it out and forget about it. I should think on what a new day will bring and how we'll find food, and nothing else.

To think like that would be such mindless bliss. But my thoughts are too full with too much.

The tears come, and I can't stop them. Monkey doesn't say anything, just puts his arms around me. And there I discover how to be mindless. I focus on his embrace and the warmth of his chest and nothing else.

* * *

Monkey

We don't keep moving, not the way I'd like: wandering aimlessly from place to place. Trip's never lived like that. She's too used to having a home, family, friends. And though I only caught a glimpse of that kind of life through Pyramid, I can understand why it might be hard to give up.

So I plan a route. Every three months we make a loop, doubling back on the same roads, trading with the same people. And the first time Trip's face lights up since leaving Pyramid, I know I've done something right.

The motorbike, the day and night sky, and the camp fires are the closest things we have to a home. But at least now, Trip can have friends again. Even I don't mind it too much.

As long as we keep to the road, we should be all right.

* * *

Trip

The mechs hit the trade village right before we get there. Monkey takes them out, and thank God this time there are survivors.

We help clean up. We bury the dead and clear the streets. We salvage what we can from the mechs and pile the scrap metal.

It feels good to feel part of something again, like I have purpose, like there's more to life than just surviving.

* * *

Monkey

I remind Trip that we're not staying. We're just helping out till people get back on their feet.

She smiles and nods at me, and I don't think she's lying intentionally. But I know where her head's at.

It's too many people. When you gather together in one place, it gives the mechs a target. I know this. Trip knows this … or at least, she tells herself this. I'm not sure she really gets it, but I do.

We can't stay. We can't.

We'd be sitting ducks.

* * *

Trip

There's a little boy with black hair and brown eyes. I find him barely alive under a pile of rubble. His parents are under there too, but they're long gone.

I rush him to the others who clean him up, give him fluids, and tell me his name is Kimiko. I stay by his side, and from the moment he wakes, he will not let go of my hand.

* * *

Monkey

Shit.

* * *

Trip

There's no room for Kimiko on the motorbike. Even if I could scrounge up enough metal and know-how to attach a sidecar, the road is no place to raise a child.

There are others in the village who could take him. None of those people would leave a little boy to starve. But he won't leave my side and calls me "okaa," whatever that means.

I wouldn't take him with me if I could. And even though I could leave him behind, I won't.

* * *

Monkey

The motorbike screeches to a halt, and I nearly go flying over the front end. My head aches like it did when the slave headband was still on it, and I press my forehead down against the cool metal.

Keep moving. Keep moving. That's what we're supposed to be doing.

But I'm the only one moving now, and I didn't even make it that far. I know Trip can see my tail lights and maybe even my back end from here.

I bounce my forehead against the front of the motorcar, and all it does is make my head hurt more.

I should go. I _need_ to go. It's the only way to avoid the mech ships.

But even though my mind knows that, my body won't follow.

Trip. I was doomed the moment I saw her. It's time I came to terms with that.

With a groan, I turn the bike around and head back to where she stands at the village's edge. The recent argument still burns within each of us.

"Monkey-"

I put up a hand to stop her. "We'll figure something out. Just no more talking."

I don't want to go off on her again, and my head still hurts.

* * *

Trip

He'll leave. It was so stupid of me to think otherwise. He has to keep moving; he knows nothing else.

Through the arguments and pleading and partial compromises, I know that when it comes down to it, I won't leave and he'll have to.

So when I wake one morning and he's not there, I try not to let it hurt. When I walk out into the town square and Maria tells me she saw Monkey head for the garages – where we keep all the scrap and machinery and Monkey's bike – I try not to imagine what I already know.

He's gone, and he's not coming back.

I gasp when I find him sitting inside, the pieces of his bike at his feet.

He jumps up, like I caught him doing something inappropriate. "I-ah–I-" He turns back to the bike. "I thought… since we wouldn't be needing it, I could… take it apart. See if the village could make use of the parts."

The sheet metal is crushed. Several parts lay in shambles. Monkey didn't dismantle the bike; he tore it to pieces with his bare hands.

He did it to stop himself from leaving.

He did it for me.

* * *

Monkey

We're sitting ducks. And with my bike destroyed, there's no escaping it.

But that doesn't mean we have to be easy prey.

Trip and I have done this dance so many times I forgot how good we were at it.

I round up the strongest. Trip finds the brightest – the ones that can do what she does or have the aptitude to learn. We pair them off and train them to work together to bring down mechs.

All we needed then was someone mechanically minded, like Pigsy. Someone who could take the parts we gather and put them together. He happens by the village to trade, and I convince him to stay.

We'll have turrets and shields and mech weapons, maybe even some mechs of our own design. If they come, _when_ they come, we'll be ready.

And when the security gates are put in place and block the road from view, I hardly think about it anymore.

* * *

Trip

Kimiko has taken to calling Monkey, "otou." I think he's saying "mom" and "dad," but I don't tell Monkey. I'm not sure how he'd take it, though I feel giddy whenever Kimiko calls us.

I suppose he's mine now, or as mine as he can be. And Monkey… well, I don't think he has any idea what to do with a child. Kimiko clings to him sometimes, hanging off an arm or a leg. And Monkey goes about his business, occasionally trying to shake Kimiko off.

I want to stay here. I want a family again. But I'm not sure Monkey understands the concept. He knows it's important to me, but he can't see a future in it. I do, and I need it in a way I can't explain.

I think he still considers leaving. Sometimes, I see him pacing like a mech dog that can't find it's prey. Maybe he's just thinking to hard. He tries so hard to keep us all safe. That has to be taxing. But it also means he's constantly thinking of what's out there to harm us, and I know part of him still itches to run.

I can't make him stay, and I'm afraid of the heartache if I asked.

* * *

Monkey

It happens one day as I'm ripping apart a newly deactivated mech Trip and I had just taken out. We've returned to the village, and I'm standing in the garages when Kimiko cries out and runs toward her. The way the sunlight catches her hair and her smile as she reaches out... Time seems to slow, and all I can focus on is her and the boy.

Before I know it, I cross the space between us, and I kiss her. Just like that. As though I've always done it, like it's no big deal.

I think she's sure to push me away, but she smiles at me and pulls me in for another kiss. Kimiko giggles, latched on to Trip's hip.

When I open my eyes, the view doesn't quite match the vision Pyramid showed me.

But it's close. It's pretty damn close.


End file.
